Elysium
by Miskit
Summary: Maximus plots to rid Rome of the false emperor Commodus. With a soul bitter and full of hatred for those that have wronged him, how will he react when he finds himself falling in love with a slave? Eventual yaoi. MaximusxOc. Rating will go up.


Disclaimer: Any and all recognizable characters do not in any manner belong to me.

**:WARNING:** Yup... like most of the things I write, this will eventually contain **yaoi/slash**, which means in short that **two men **will fall in love with each other and physically share that love with each other. If you can't stomach such things then please do not read this story; you will only get offended and that was not my intention in the least.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter One

"Death smiles at us all; all a man can do is smile back."

They were there the words once spoken by a wise old man. A man who had been an emperor, a leader, and to him, a father - a father who had been more caring and supportive then his own father had been when he was a child.

Maximus didn't remember his real father.

He, commander of the armies of the North and general to the Felix Legion, trusted the words of the deceased emperor of Rome. He believed in them whole heartedly, more so then he believed in himself - but for the life of him he couldn't even manage to humor himself with a chuckle at death's expense. Not now, not today... or any day soon it seemed. That privilege was an honor for true men...

...in truth, as he sat there with his back against the cool stone wall of his cell, he felt more like a furious dog, beaten and bloody. His cage had been rattled in that arena today; one too many times perhaps, for he now hated the man who now falsely called himself emperor even more then before. Much of his aggression towards the emotionally inapt man he had taken out on the fighters set against him and the others... but the grudge remained. The anger was still festering within his heart and the foul flavor of bitter hate stuck to the roof of his mouth, it hung about his head in a cloud of disgust that fogged his mind.

It seemed so long ago to him, yet remained clear as an event that had happened just that morning in his mind's eye. The smoke that billowed up from charred remains, skin once warm and smooth now black as night. Sweet voices now replaced by faded memories and silence. In an instant his life had been torn from him and crucified in a mock sacrifice that had saved none and destroyed many.

He remembered when the land that had once been so fertile and had housed so many hopes and pleasant memories. His simple home with the stones that warmed in the sun's rays. The kitchen garden that had smelled of herbs in the day and jasmine in the evening hours... at times, when he lay here alone at night in his cell, he could almost swear that he smelled it all again breezing in through the archways like a cool, taunting dream. The figs, apples, pears... the soil as rich and black as his loving wife's hair. The grapes to the South and the hollies to the North. The wild ponies.

A home worth fighting for, he had been told.

A home he had lost along with every hope and dream that had come with it.

He turned his head away from the archway, as though looking away from his memories. Sweat still clung to his forehead, the red dye that had been splashed and left to drip down in a wet mass of confusion for them all stained his brow and tunic. Red was supposed to be the color of the gods... it seemed to him like only a great mess left to clean up later. Luck had nothing to do with it and he had felt no stronger with it sliding over his skin and blurring his vision then he had before.

The soft clank of ceramics against the course, dirty floor caught the great warrior's attention and he looked to the archway once more. A young man was leaving a small bowl of water at the barred door way to his cell, most likely as a means for him to clean himself with, and bracing himself with one hand against the wall was standing up and turning away without a single glance towards him. Leaving with his hand still against the wall, like a guide, as though he wasn't there at all. A ghost.

It irritated him in a way, he supposed - though at the same time he didn't mind at all. Almost preferred it that way. To be alone in his reflection and the pain that came with it.

It was not the first time he had seen the young man. The blond slave who noone seemed to know, with the pale golden locks curving with his soft jaw line and cheeks in almost unruly waves that came down to just barely glance against his shoulders. He'd come here before, with a bowl of water for him, as he did many of the other men... noone was sure why, though Maximus could only assume it was a job set for him by Proximo. He'd also seen the younger man standing out on the grounds leaning against a wall of pillar as everyone sat around and ate their meals.

The slave was fair looking, almost feminine, with pale skin and soft features. Narrow shoulders and a petite frame... his height that rose up to only level with the bridge of his nose at most. And he always looked so clean compared to the rest of them, though he supposed that could simply be his mind and eyes playing tricks on him.

He had asked a number of others about him, as curiosity could only be bent into submission for so long. Besides, he was a general... it had been his job to know of those he was facing and understand them and their actions as thoroughly as possible - but noone had answers for him now. The young man was a mystery and appearently noone had so much as truly spoken to him. All he knew was that he was a slave and that he left not everyone, but most of them, bowls of water to clean themselves with in the evenings.

He listened to the soft tap of the young man's leather sandals against the floor until it was too faint to hear. He turned his attention to the bowl left behind for him, bringing it back with him to the place against the wall he had been resting and proceeded to take advantage of the small luxury he had been given - washing away the torment remembering caused him with the cloth left at the bottom of the bowl for his use.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

His second battle, himself against a group. A solo battle without the aide of his comrades. No dripping red dyes or bothersome chains this time, just him against many. He had been victorious. The sound of the crowd chanting and crying out for him rang in his ears still, hours after the fact. The people of these mindless provinces were so easily captivated and entertained by the bloodshed the arena provided for them - it was disgusting.

He lay on his back in the corner, clean and for the most part relaxed as he looked up through the barred window of his cell to the small bow of night sky he was able to see. There was a light, a torch, still lit on the outer wall beneath the window and the flickering flame cast wild shadows around the cell. He watched them sometimes, racing like wild ponies across the stone walls... sometimes he smiled for this sight, others he covered his eyes and forced his tears of grief away.

He had smiled at them tonight.

His armor had been returned to him this day, the strong black breast plates that housed the images of his horses leaned against the far wall opposite him. The light of the torch outside would at random catch the silver stallions and cast a sharp glare towards him that reminded him of better days - days of battle amongst his men. At the time, then, he would have considered days spent harvesting his crops and teaching his son to ride to be the better days... but compared to where he was now, the life he was now forces to live or else die unfulfilled, made the years he had wasted on the battle field seem like only days that had ended too quickly. He missed those days, such simple days for the glory of Rome.

He understood now what Marcus Aurelius had meant that morning when he spoke of the corruption that was Rome. The great man had warned him of the consequences should Commodus rule the empire... he was watching these consequences unfold before his very eyes. Everyday it was as though another chunk of the Rome Marcus Aurelius had whispered to him was chipped away as these mindless games of death and gore continued.

He had to make it stop. And by the gods he would see it end. He would thrust his blade into the flesh of that false emperor; end the corruption as his great father had wished and see to it that Rome was returned to her true self. A Republic.

Maximus closed his eyes, head resting back comfortably, face turned to the window with the torch light flickering softly over his visage. He would sleep, although restlessly, dreaming of the home that had had been taken from him, the father that had been slain, the life he had lost, and the duty he was left with.

The sound of movement and soft soled footsteps caught his attention and he turned his head to the archway. The dim lighting of his cell cast tall, warped shadows of the two coming to the barred arch - he recognized one, Juba's uniquely foreign frame and tall stature was not easily missed. He could tell when his friend was approaching even in pitch darkness.

His assumptions were verified when he heard the man's clipped, accented voice.

"In here..." The dark skinned slave lifted an arm, most likely pointing in towards him. Another, very much shorter figure stood along side him and remained there for a short time even after Juba had left.

Maximus watched the shadow in the archway, waiting for some indication that he was there and not simply a figment of his imagination. But none came, and growing slightly irritated by the silence he engaged the shadow himself - risking the chance of seeming a fool by talking to himself in the dark. "Who's there?"

The shadow visibly relaxed, tension in the shoulders of the other slackening at his voice. Leather soles padded softly forward a few steps, enough so that the flicking torch light caught the other's face in sort glimpses. "So you are here...I was beginning to think I had been lead astray."

Maximus sat up, hearing a soft chuckle from the young man standing just outside his cell, a hand resting on the bars that locked him in. It was the young, fair looking slave that left them bathing water in the evenings. The general found it an oddity to find the pale slave standing here now - knowing so little about him made the situation surreal. Strange. A delusion even that left him more then a bit perplexed.

Silence fell between them again. Heavy, waiting silence that was customary between strangers.

"You... are the one they call The Spaniard...?"

"Yes..." He nodded slowly as he watched the other shift, leaning his head against the cold steel bars. A smile was now on the other's lips, a pleasant one that almost brought one to his own face - Maximus could now clearly see the other's face and the blue eyes that the young man had; he'd never such pale blue eyes before. Like the milky ring of sky that outlined a pure white cloud on a clear day. The young man in his own was an oddity, the structure of his face clear told of his native Roman birth, but blond hair and blue eyes was not a common site. Especially on a Roman.

"A great warrior they call you. Undefeated...possibly even invincible." The young man's face was tilted just slightly, his eyes looking towards the wall behind Maximus and to his far left. Not at his face, never meeting his eyes. "You fight like a man protected by the gods... are you Achilles, I wonder? Come again and reborn in the flesh of a mortal man fated to be a slave and live the rest of his life fighting in an arena for the pleasure of Rome's best? Defeating the good Prince Hector was not enough for you?"

It was the general's turn to chuckle, a small smirk of a smile curling the edges of his thin lips. The corners of his eyes wrinkled with amusement, mirth shining in their green depths - true humor escaping him for the first time in many days, slipping out beneath the hatred that brewed within his soul. He shook his head slowly, nodding his head once in the slave's direction, "...Is that what you think?"

"That is what I think, but not what I hope."

"Then what is it that you hope?"

"I hope that you are not some great warrior of times long since pass returning to us once more. I hope that you like any other here, a simple mortal man." His should shrugged lightly, "...who just so happens to be a little more experienced in battles than the rest."

Maximus nodded, that bit of humor remaining in his eyes even though his smile had fallen by now. "I see..." He looked to the young man again, "You speak as though you've seen me fight. You are a slave... Proximo allows you to watch the spectacle?"

The general watched as the smile waned on the other's face, "Mmm... not so much watch." He chuckled, smile returning though Maximus wondered how genuine it was. "Gossip travels fast and if you are careful, a slave can hear more then his fair share of information on a number of topics. You just so happen to be the most popular."

"Ah..." Maximus smirked at this as well, finding that he was rather enjoying this company so randomly thrust upon him.

"They say you threw your sword into the crowd today..." The younger continued, "Nearly struck a very wealthy man, and shocked many. Yet they loved you for it..."

"Do not ask me to explain the actions of men or how they find their pleasure."

"Oh I wouldn't dream of it... I just can't help but wonder. Is a rebel so fascinating? I remember a time when such a feat was punishable by death."

"What claim are you making?" Maximus leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he stared intently at the man that would not meet his gaze. "Do you not share in their fascination?"

"I find such acts foolish."

"Now you are calling me a fool?" Maximus arched a brow at the young man, humored thought there was that flutter of irritation that sang out and laced the words spoken in his deep rasp of a voice.

"No, Great Spaniard." His smile grew all the more then, head tilting in the other direction, eyes on the far wall still. "I am no gladiator, I am a slave and nothing more. To call you a fool I would have to be willing to fight you for that right... a slave hasn't the ability to defeat a gladiator. Not one so weak as myself."

"Proximo needs both strong fighters and those that will die quickly for entertaining purposes..." Maximus commented almost as though speaking to himself. "Why doesn't he send you into the arena with the rest of us?"

"Why waste a household slave? I am good at what I do, but no good in the arena."

"And why is that? Can you not pick up a sword on your own?"

"No...it..." That smile fell again, blue eyes blinking for what Maximus now realized was the first time he had ever seen the other do so. "It is just difficult... to fight what you can not see..."

Maximus stilled, staring at the young man. It was then that he came to another realization, the reason the other's eyes were so strangely pale. Why it seemed as though a milky film lay over his eyes. The general tilted his head, looking the other over in silence and noting once more how the other had never so much as glanced at his face. "What is your name?"

"My name?" The younger seemed a bit surprised, his eyes blinking once more. "My name is Agix, Sir."

"Agix... Why do not look at me, Agix?"

The blond was silent, gaze moving slowly from the wall to over the general's head, to the floor and again to another wall of the cell. His smile had dropped and Maximus nearly felt guilty for it. "I would, Sir... but I can not see you."

"You are blind." It wasn't a question. He didn't need to ask. It was a statement that he already knew the answer to, and suddenly it all made since. Why Agix hadn't looked at him while they spoke, why the other's eyes seemed so strange, why he held a hand to the wall as a guide after leaving the bowl of water at the archway every evening. Agix was blind.

"Since I was a boy." Agix nodded in the general direction of Maximus' voice. His brow furrowed slightly, "You think less of me knowing this?"

"No."

"Good. Then I am glad, Spaniard."

"You were born without sight?" Maximus inquired, his curiosity getting the better of him again.

Agix shook his head, "No. I was born able to see as bright and clearly as you do..." He paused a moment, considering it seemed and then continued. "My family is a farming family. We lived in a small home surrounded by fields; I would help my father along with my elder brothers with the harvest every year. Truly I think I only made things harder for them, but they humored me."

"There was a fire... I was ten. Something had happened in the night, noone was sure what exactly, but the stable where my father kept the horses went up in a blaze. My parents were frantic and my siblings didn't know what to do... so I thought to be the brave one and went in to save the horses. I was able to free most of them, but... I was hurt." He paused again, head tilting to the side again, "The stable was falling to pieces and collapsing there around me. A rafter fell, part of it struck me in the face... I was pinned. My brothers were eventually able to get me out with my only having a few minor burns that have long since healed, but my eyes... I remember being fine at first, but then colors started to bleed together and blend, and then all I could see were shapes... within an hour..." He shook his head slowly, a vague smile on his lips despite what he was telling the general, "I could see nothing but black. An eternal night."

"My parents tried to help me, as did my brothers. But within a months time they all realized that there was nothing to be done about it... and we were farmers. Poor farmers. You can imagine how difficult it was for my family to harvest what they could while repairing the damage that had been done to the stables... and deal with a blind child that could do little more then stumble about and cause a mess for the rest of them."

"They sold you as a slave..." Maximus spoke, putting in his ten cents worth.

Agix nodded, "My family was poor. And they had little use for a blind child... I couldn't help them. That was all nearly eleven years ago, and still I don't really blame them for selling me off."

"And Proximo bought you then?"

"Proximo is my third master... he's a good master. He treats me as well as a master can treat his slaves."

Maximus nodded, looking the other over again now that he knew all that he did. "And one of your jobs is to leave me bathing water every night...?"

That smile returned to Agix's face, the pleasant one Maximus knew immediately was genuine. "I do, as I do for many of the others. It is not a token reserved solely for you, Great Spaniard..." His smile turned more to the slyer side. Perhaps coy? "Do not think yourself so special. After all, you are only a simple mortal man..."

Maximus chuckled, "Of course."

The light of the torch outside his cell window went out, the sound of another slave walking past to carry on his duty of putting out the rest of the outer torches. The cell was thrust into full darkness and Maximus looked around himself, realizing how dark it truly was without lights...this was how the world looked at all times to Agix? It was truly depressing.

The general heard the younger shift outside his cell and turned his face to the sound of the movement. "The torches have been put out?"

"Mine has been, yes." Maximus answered, "The rest will be also shortly..."

"Then I must leave you, Spaniard. No torches means that is it very late..."

Maximus nodded to himself, knowing that the other couldn't see such an action, but he couldn't see Agix either now so it seemed fair to him. He listened to the blind slave leaving his cell back the way he had come... marveling at how the other was able to still function and find his way through the world without his sight.

That was truly smiling in the face of death... in this darkness Maximus himself didn't trust himself enough to even stand from his place against the wall let alone travel through it.


End file.
